#AND MY BRAIN IS NAGGING AT ME TOO LATELY TELLING ME TO GO PLAY POR

[doodleimprovement]

One Good Try [Coco]

This was just posted yesterday to Ao3, enjoy

Miguel is loosing sleep and gaining anxiety in the wake of his day in the land of the dead, with one question always at the edge of his thoughts:

"What if he didn't make it?"

He had to find out. He had to try

Rating: Gen \ Warnings: None \ Word Count: 2934 (Christ almighty) // Ao3 Link

Miguel had to try something

Two months of sleepless nights. Christmas had come and gone, and New Years Eve was well under way.

And the poor 12 year old was very much not enjoying himself a solid 40 percent of the time. His mind was mostly focused on one, nagging thought

Did he make it in time?

Was his Papa Héctor alive?

Did Mamá Coco - who passed just last month - get to see her Papa?

It ate away at the poor boy in tiny ways. In how peckish he’d been with food. In how he stared for hours at the re-taped photo of the Héctor with Imelda and Coco. How his dreams filled with images of his great-great grandfather fading away like sand into the darkness below the marigold bridge. In his tears that fell on the guitar, almost too afraid to strum it again since he last played for his Mamá Coco on her deathbed.

Two months had been too long. Too much. He had to find out. But how could he?

Its not Día de los Muertos. He can’t get cursed… can he?

He sat in the library at his school one day in late January, mulling over a book titled “The Dead and You: How to Contact Your Ancestors” by Esperanza Migas. He scanned and scanned until he reached a page with the ominous title: “THE DOS AND DON’TS OF THE DEAD”. Seemed as good a place as any to start reading

As he perused the page, one “don't” popped out at him: “DON’T: Deface your families tombs in any way. Might result in a curse”

… Well there was an idea, wasn’t it?

--

One small pint of water-soluble paint and a hasty plan later and here he was, in the Santa Cecilia Graveyard at one in the morning in the middle of February. His flashlight was laid on the cold earth facing the stone, and he worked on opening the paint.

The boy hadn’t slept more than an hour or so at a time in the past 4 days, and he muttered about how it was a miracle he wasn’t seeing double yet. Once opened, he took a deep breath, holding the can over her tombstone

"Lo siento, Mamá Imelda” He muttered, before pouring the thick, purple paint all along the top.

He waited a few moments, letting out a huff in frustration and going to grab the flashlight… and his hand went right through it. He jumped, realizing that it had worked, and immediately started looking around for the marigold bridge, spotting blotches of orange just out of his sight.

He ran, stumbling slightly over his own legs before getting to the bridge, which while not as bright as before, seemed pretty lovely nonetheless. Standing at the beginning of the bridge was a uniformed skeleton, who, upon spotting Miguel, stared blankly at him before speaking

“... Aren’t you the living boy from-”

Miguel just nodded, holding his own arm awkwardly

“...” The guard sighed deeply “Follow me, por favor”

---

Imelda had come to hate the ringing of her telephone. She had never liked the telephone, even when she was alive, and that obnoxious ringing was the reason why. Was it helpful? Yes. Did it make her like the device? No.

She grumbled out of bed and picked it up “Rivera Zápatos”

“Ah, is this Miss Imelda Rivera?” a light, female voice asked

“This is she. Why are you calling me at this hour?” She responded, not even a slight bit of amusement in her tone.

“Ah, well, you see Miss Rivera-” the lady on the other end of the line stumbled slightly, before another voice was heard in the background - a voice that caused Imelda’s eyes to widen in surprise.

“C-can I talk to her?”

There was a shuffling sound, and then a breath

“... Hola Mamá Imelda…” The young boys voice sounded thick with tears and hoarse from sobs, which only made her even more concerned.

“... We’ll be right there”

“W-wait, Mamá I-” She hung up

“Héctor!” She shouted to her bed, where a lump of blankets rolled about slightly “Get up, we have to go to the agency”

“Mmh… Why..?” Héctor sat up, rubbing at his eye sockets

“Jus’ get dressed” She huffed, grabbing her boots from their place bedside. She’d explain on the way.

There was no way she was going to keep Miguel waiting any longer than necessary, not with the way he sounded over the phone.

It left her chilled in a way only a mother can describe

-----

The sheer awkwardness radiating off of the assistant at the Department of Family Reunions left Miguel feeling so much worse now that he’d actually cried a little in front of her. She kept offering tissues, asking him how he was, and telling him that Imelda would be there soon.

And while it would be nice to see her, she wasn’t who he was here to see.

The crying had just come from him explaining why he was here. He’d barely gotten to talking about Héctor when he choked on his words in fear.

He was very close to straight up leaving the office before there was a sudden slamming of a door, followed by a slightly muffled but still recognized voice.

Miguel scrambled to his feet from his chair and watched as the door opened, and Imelda walked in, looking over Miguel briefly

He was dressed in a red sweater - seemed to be his favorite color- and jeans with his Rivera boots. The boy had bags under his eyes that rivaled herself during the early days of Cocos upbringing. The redness in said eyes matched his overall flushed complexion, exhausted and miserable looking.

“Miguel…” Her expression couldn’t help but soften at his appearance. You can’t stay mad at a boy who looks that miserable, even if he did pour paint all over your grave. He must have been looking to get cursed, looking for a reason to come back here, but why-

“Imelda? Imelda is it really him?” Héctor came in a few moments after her, coming from behind and looking past her, freezing up the same as her at his great-great-grandson’s miserable appearance.

Miguel's eyes went wide as saucers when Héctor entered, letting out a strangled gasp.

He looked… better. His clothing was no longer ragged, and he even had shoes. Shoes! His bones looked lighter, whiter, and even his hair didn’t look so dusty. He looked so much better than when Miguel had last seen him.

“P-papa Héctor!!” He shouted, rushing forward and clutching his arms around Héctors ribs, choking out sobs of relief. “Y-you’re okay! You didn't fade away!!” He managed in between strained crying and whimpers.

Héctor didn’t need too long to piece together that he was the reason his grandson was like this, and reacted by hugging the small boy close to his chest

“Heh, yeah, I am” He answered softly. “Still kicking in these old bones” He chuckled

Miguel took a moment to enjoy the hug before continuing.

“... I … I was worried…” he looked at the wall, almost embarrassed now “That I hadn’t made it.. That… you’d…”

“Ay, ay Miguel” Héctor turned Miguel’s head to look up at him with a gentle hand “I'm here, it’s okay”

The boy sniffled “Y-yeah…”

Imelda stepped over, a hand on Miguel's back in as comforting a manner she could “Miguel, are you telling me that you spilled paint on my tombstone-”

“He did what???” Hector looked aghast, right at Miguel “Miguel-”

“It’ll wash away with water!!” Miguel quickly assured, still sniffling a bit “and-and its supposed to rain tonight…”

Imelda sighed deeply, her fingers pinching the bridge of her long-gone nose. “Well… I supposed I cannot stay mad at such ingenuity, canI? It is a RIvera trait” She smiled slight, then turned to the Assistant “You! How long does Miguel have before the curse takes its hold?”

‘Oh! Oh uh-” The skeletal woman flipped through an old file as quickly as she could, before pointing down to a page “It says here that when in the case of defamation of a grave, you have to send him back and he has to clean the grave or he’ll be returned here before sunset the next day”

“Hm….” Imelda pondered “Miguel?”

“Hm?” the boy looked over at her directly, still clinging to Héctor like his life depended on it

“ I am sending you home”

“Ma-”

“But” She interrupted, “After we take you to the Hacienda for a quick visit”

The way Miguel’s face lit up was more than worth that brief blip of his defiance.

After assuring the assistant that they’d get Miguel home in a couple of hours, they promptly left. Imelda’s hand on Miguel’s shoulder, and Héctor holding his hand. Miguel was absolutely beaming, the tears quickly drying as he started telling them about how his baby sister was the best, and how Rosa was teaching herself to play violin, and how they had taken down the statue of De La Cruz in Mariachi Plaza since he’d exposed him as a fraud using Coco’s saved letters and poems. It was a lot for the dead Riveras to take in, but as Miguel recounted how the police had tried to take the guitar back, or how De La Cruz fans had called his assumptions absolute garbage (Miguel mentioned that they’d used harsher language and called him some pretty nasty names) Héctor couldn’t help the swell of absolute pride in his chest cavity

Nor the guilt weighing down on his shoulders.

Just seeing how relieved happy Miguel was just at the sight of him had numerous, worrying questions nag away at his brain

How long had Miguel been trying to cross over?

How many sleepless nights had Miguel spent thinking that he’d failed?

He’d admit that he’d had his own nightmares concerning Miguel. Nightmares where he didn’t make it home that night, where Ernesto's murder attempt had worked, where Miguel went home and was punished and barred from playing music ever again, somehow all because of him. When Coco had crossed over - that sad but joyous day - many of his fears had been alleviated

But Coco had never mentioned anything like this.

When they got to the Rivera Hacienda, most of the family was up, including Coco, who took one look at Miguel and wasted no time in gathering him into a bone crushing hug which he returned eagerly.

The rest of the family said their hellos and gave their hugs (Tia Rostia’s hug seemed especially snug) and She offered to name buñelos for him before he went home - as a treat. To which Miguel excitedly nodded his head. Some family members (like Victoria and Julio) went back to bed, while Oscar and Felipe caught Miguel in a talk about their various shoe ideas and tweaks. Héctor took the minutes where the boy wasn’t clinging to him to lean against the wall near the kitchen, watching him with the paternal affection he’d always had for the boy, even before knowing they were related.

“He’s such a brash niño” Imelda commented, approaching him “Doing this just to see if you were still around”

“After all that happened, I can’t really blame him, Diosa” He reached for her hand and she let him take it, squeezing it with reassurance “He looks so tired…”

“After Rosita finishes the buñelos I am sending him straight home. Talk to him now, Héctor” She asserted gently - squeezing his hand- before going to talk to Rosita.

Héctor briefly shook off his nerves before approaching the group

“Ay, Oscar, Felipe, lemme talk to Miguel, just a moment?”

“Oh, si, si, we- “

“Have to go to bed anyhow! Remember Miguel-”

“To deliver that design idea to Elena for us”

“You go it” He gave them a slightly unsure thumbs up as they left. He looked up at Héctor

“Ah.. whats up, Papa Héctor?” Miguel grinned uneasily

Héctor sat himself down where Oscar and Felipe had been, looking right at Miguel. He didn’t have a very easy expression “Miguel, did you really do all that just to see me?”

“Uh well, yeah…” The boy looked away “I just.. Had to know, y’know? It was killin’ me” he shrugged, an almost-smile hitting his face. Héctor was confused for a moment before letting out a huff

“Thats not funny, M’ijo” he said, though his own slight smile betrayed him, earning a small grin - dimple and all- from his beloved grandson

“Yes it is, you’re smiling” Miguel mused almost haughtily

Héctor couldn’t help but chuckle “Enough enough. Miguel, I need to know that you won’t try to do this again” Miguel's expression after that didn’t surprise him “I mean it, M’ijo! You can’t come back here. Who knows what might happen to you if every time you miss me, or Coco, or anyone you just deface a tombstone, or steal something. It's not safe!”

“B-but-”

“No, no buts” He affirmed, and Miguel’s shoulders slumped “I don’t want to see you here again until you are old, grey, and skeletal yourself, comprende?”

Miguel sighed deeply, looking away from him and crossing his arms. He was so much like Coco - when she was a baby, anyway.

“... Fine, but.. I still wanna find a way to talk to you. Somehow, maybe?”

Just as Héctor was about to gently let him down from that pie in the sky idea, Dante exploded into the kitchen and tackled Miguel right off of the chair he was seated in

And Héctor got an idea.

After buñelos and more chatter, Miguel looked about ready to pass out where he stood, and Imelda grabbed a marigold petal. Miguel hugged those that were still awake, lingering on Coco and outright refusing to let go of Héctor for about 2 minutes before lastly hugging Imelda

“I’m sorry Mama Imelda” He muttered

“Ay, M’ijo es okay” She assured him, gathering him in a hug “Now, let's get you home for a full night's rest, si?”

He nodded

“Miguel, I give you my blessing” The petal glowed “To go home, to clean my tomb” she raised it to him “and to rest well, M’ijo”

He smiled brightly at her, and reached forward, touching the petal and getting swept away in a cascade of sunset orange.

Imedla sighed in relief after he left, rubbing at her eyes “Ay, that boy is going to be the final death of me”

Hector reached for her upper arm gently “Lets go to bed, Diosa. We’ve had an eventful morning, and the shop can afford to open late today” He assured and she simply nodded.

Eventful morning indeed.

----

Miguel arrived in the land of the living in the rain, looking at the tombstone and noting that the paint had already come off from the drenching it was receiving.

He grabbed his still on flashlight, and used it to navigate his way home and sneak in the hacienda.

He tiptoed passed bedrooms and went right into the bathroom, where he started running the shower and bathed- washing out the coldness of the rain and also making up an excuse as to why he was showering at this hour if anyone came by. No one did, and he finished the shower, dried himself off, and went to his room where he shoved his wet clothes deep into his hamper, putting on the pajamas he’d left in his bed.

He looked at the date and time on his calendar and clock, realizing that it was saturday and that school wouldn’t be a concern today. He smiled briefly, feeling more ready for sleep than he had in months, and shut his eyes, dreams of guitars and colors and skeletons already beginning before he even began to softly snore

---

The next few days, there was a notable change in Miguel. He was sleeping better, playing the guitar again, and seemed more like himself than he’d been in months. Elena wasn’t completely sure what caused the change in her grandson, but seeing him looking so much happier, it didn’t really matter.

While getting dinner ready, that damned Xolo dog burst in, barking and yipping and jumping around the hacienda, playing - though not roughly- with the twins and then making his way into the kitchen, where he sat at the entrance as if waiting permission. She turned to shoo him off, when she noticed a piece of rolled up paper tied to his neck. She approached him and he didn’t move as she removed it, and rolled it open. It was addressed to Miguel

Miguel,

I really hope you got this! It's a complete shot in the dark whether or not this can cross over into the land of the living, but if it did i think we’ve fixed the “communication issue”. Excellent!

Let me know how you are doing as soon as you get this, okay? I wish you nothing but the best, Mi Hijo.

Much love, Your Papa Héctor

Elena nearly choked on a breath, staring incredulously at the letter, before letting out a deep sigh, rolling it up, and re-attaching it to Dante.

“Miguel is in Mariachi Plaza, you dumb dog! Now shoo!” she waved her hand, and Dante took off like a bullet- or perhaps a rubber band? That dog’s movements defied logic.

Elena shook her head, chuckling “So he really was telling the truth… I’ll have to have a chat with that little niñito when he gets home” and returned to her carne asada, the smell wafting through the room and into the courtyard. She huffed in accomplishment, glancing out into the courtyard.

Yes, all was very well in the Rivera Hacienda

#coco #fanfiction #fan fiction #miguel #hector #imelda #mama coco #the rivera family #the dead riveras #post canon #antonia writes #antonias fandoms